


Application

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: cliche_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-29
Updated: 2009-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jennifer had fretted for hours over her applications to med school, drafting and redrafting her statements of purpose because answering the question why do you want to be a doctor? with because I want to help seemed so clichéd that Jennifer almost didn't believe herself when she wrote it down on a page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Application

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [cliche_bingo](http://community.livejournal.com/cliche_bingo/) for the prompt 'illness.' Thanks to [Jenn](http://dogeared.livejournal.com/) for beta reading.

Jennifer had fretted for hours over her applications to med school, drafting and redrafting her statements of purpose because answering the question _why do you want to be a doctor?_ with _because I want to help_ seemed so clichéd that Jennifer almost didn't believe herself when she wrote it down on a page. It was the same answer that was given by people who'd chosen medicine because their families expected it, or because they wanted to earn a lot of money, or because they were fans of _ER_ and thought a career as a surgeon seemed cool and exciting, but Jennifer couldn't think of a better way to phrase it—there was a reason she'd never cut it as an English major. She'd never found it easy to make words do what she wanted; organic chemistry or calculus were both easy when compared to the task of learning how to say that this was what she had to do because she couldn't stand the thoughts of her hands being idle.

She'd made it through med school without ever finding a way to make her tongue articulate the reasons why she was doing this—why she'd persevered through her surgical rotation and her ER internship, even though it felt like she hadn't seen her own bed for weeks at a time; why she'd lived on bad coffee and hurriedly snatched sandwiches and hadn't worn anything that wasn't a pair of scrubs for longer than she could remember and enjoyed it, because the only thing more challenging than the science was what people could throw at you—and the one positive thing you could say about the SGC's rather unorthodox recruitment methods was that they were less concerned about your motivations than they were about whether you were able to walk out of the world and everything you knew. Your statement of purpose wasn't written on paper; it was the ability to listen to everything Carolyn Lam was calmly, carefully telling you about what working within the SGC meant, knock back a tequila shot or several that evening, and still be able to look General Hammond in the eyes and say _yes, I'll do it; I can_ the next morning.

So first there was the SGC and learning what it was like to work twenty stories underground with unscheduled activation alarms blaring in your ears and blood spattering your arms and Marines with wounds from Jaffa staff weapons' blasts shakily trading in-jokes while you worked on saving their lives; and then there was Atlantis, where the air stung salt-rich at the back of your throat and Jennifer hadn't felt so nervous and so determined all at once in a long time. Everything was new here, and for all the years Jennifer had spent studying and training, there was little that Chippewa Falls or Johns Hopkins or even the SGC had been able to teach her that she could use here—she had the ability to set bones and stitch up wounds, sure, but there was nothing in any textbook she'd ever read about how to repair a gaping intestinal wound in someone who wants to get up off their hospital bed to go rescue a team member, or how to keep within the limits of your oath to do no harm when your best friends are being hurt over and over.

She'd had to learn everything here, by herself, with no guide to reference except for the people around her—Teyla and Rodney and Ronon, the Colonel and Radek and Marie—and the difficulty of the lessons she'd learned was matched only by how worthwhile it all was. Everything she'd been through was worth it because she'd earned Teyla's trust, Ronon's smile, Colonel Sheppard's acceptance. And at moments like this, when she ran into the gate room to meet a returning 'jumper and knelt on a floor slippery with blood, hands working deft and sure to staunch the flow of blood from Lorne's side while Teyla told her in clipped, terse tones what had happened, she did know why she'd become a doctor, why she'd made Atlantis her home—because she didn't just want to help people, she wanted to know how to help; because when someone asked for her help, she wanted to be able to say _yes, I'll do it; I can._


End file.
